A Kill to Remember
by ThePandorica
Summary: The night Tom Riddle decides to kill his father. -oneshot- R


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. Or the gorgeous, albeit evil, Tom Marvolo Riddle.

**A/N:** Please R&R, and enjoy! I certainly liked writing it!

--

In one minute, you can brush your teeth, take a shower, and open the mail. In one minute you can count to sixty, dial a phone number or check your pulse. In one minute, you can kiss a loved one. In one minute you can change a life, save a life or take one.

...In one minute, you can become a man, or a monster.

It was such a shame then, that Tom Riddle never listened.

--

Sunlight spattered through the grubby, grime flecked windows illuminating the dust ridden furniture inside. It was evident that nobody had gone inside this house for years. Instead, it was left. Abandoned and neglected, this once magnificent house now stood alone on top of the hill. There were rumours of people living inside it. A flicker of light from one of the windows would be enough send people rushing to and fro to deliver news of a new inhabitant. Yet, they never realised just how lucky they were, that things such as furniture, couldn't talk. If it could however, they would learn that the suspicious looking demise of its previous owners, only took one minute.

Especially, if they were to learn that it was at the hands of a certain, dark 'wizard' named Tom Marvolo Riddle.

...But think for a moment. Imagine, for a minute that furniture could talk. If the paintings on the walls, were able to voice their thoughts…. Would they talk about what had happened? Or would they be screaming, a harsh and horrible wail, as the scene of seeing their owner's fall in a flash of green light, played over and over in their heads?

It was a cold spring evening the night that Tom Riddle approached the 'house on top of the hill'. Nothing stirred. It was almost, as if nature had designed this night just for him. It would make the act a whole lot easier… Not that he believed it would be difficult. In fact, he was rather looking forward to it.

His lip curled slightly, as he twisted Morfin's wand in his hand and looked up at it. There were lights on in the upper part of the house and the faint sound of music spilled out of the open window. His eyes narrowed and a piercing feeling of hatred flashed through him. He wanted him dead. He wanted him dead, now. ...Yet, he had to be patient. After all, doing things rashly was not Lord Voldemort's way of doing things. Was not his way of doing things.

Slowly, he exhaled, his breath misting in the frosty air and floating away behind him. If anyone were to spot him outside the house, it would have looked like he was not breathing at all. Not that anybody could see him, however. Several charms that'd he'd cast earlier, had put a stop to that. Nothing was going to spoil his plans for tonight. In a couple of hour's time, that filthy muggle father of his was going to be dead. …and all the better for it.

Soon, seconds turned into minutes and minutes turned into hours, when the faint sound of music, finally stopped. His head rose slowly, relishing the blissful moment of silence. A beam of moonlight passed across his face, making his angelic features – which he so dearly hated – look ethereal. His eyes glittered like tiny black gemstones, and his lips curled into a half smile. He broke into a brisk walk up to the house, his heart pacing faster and faster with anticipation. He could have easily apparated into the house, but after thinking about it, it would spoil all of the fun. Why do something quickly, when you could make it so much longer and exciting?

The door opened easily. Stepping inside, his fingers traced the grooves in the wand, as he looked around the house. Expensive carpets lay on the floor and antique paintings lined the walls. A thought crossed his mind. The muggles really were stupid. All that, so called 'wealth' went straight to their heads. Parading these precious things in their house, as though it was only the tip of their extensive wealth? Objects that, as a boy in the Orphanage, he had dreamed of owning. Objects, which he (his father) could have sold to keep his mother alive and well. He hated the fact that his mother had died, helpless and alone. He hated him for it. However, it was not as though his father's wealth mattered. After all, he would be rid of it soon, as he would be rid of him. A scowl lined his perfect features, as he strode up the staircase, ever closer toward his goal.

The landing stretched out before him. It was vast and empty, except for one single door in the centre. Light crept through the cracks in it, illuminating the floor beneath it. The sounds of murmured voices sounded through it, and he listened quietly. There were three people in there. Two males and one female. …His filthy muggle father and his parents? …His grandparents. His eyes flashed dangerously, and with a small push the door opened slowly.

At the sound of this, the three people in the room turned at once, to see a hooded figure in black, standing in the door way. His father jumped up first, and yelled;

"Who the hell are you?" What do you want?

Tom smiled, as he strode confidently into the room and swung the door shut behind him, locking it with a twitch of his wand. Taking a hand out of his robe pocket, he swept his hood back to reveal himself. His eyes were now filled with such pure hatred and loathing, that it didn't take much for the three muggles to be quiet.

There was a heart stopping pause.

Then, slowly, with much seeming deliberation, he took the wand out of his pocket and smiled, before saying quietly;

"I am your death."

Then, there was a flash of green light and the three Riddle's fell, a look of complete and utter horror still lining their faces.

---

**FIN.** - Review?


End file.
